Remember Never to forget
by zookitty
Summary: He knew John would come for them one day, but sometimes heroes need help and sometimes hope needs action.
1. Prelude

**AN: **This is a different twist to a familiar challenge, because I must admit I love John...so I had to add a spin.

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, John

**Setting:** Pre-series

**Spoilers**: Nightmare  
**Genre:** weechester, hurt/comfort, angst, drama, family  
**Challenge: **Challenge 7: Based off of the episode, "Nightmare." What if Sam and Dean had Max's childhood?

**Warning: **Child abuse, though not graphic

Thanks to Morgan for the beta!

* * *

_"Remember…remember never to forget."—Chris Larabee's father-in-law, Magnificent Seven_

**Prelude: **

There were some things Dean would always remember. The sound of his mother's voice as she sung him to sleep. The smell of smoke the night they lost everything and the promise John made him the last time he saw his father

_"Dean, be strong, take care of your brother and I'll find you. No matter what happens I will come for you. Remember that. Don't forget." _

Sometimes that promise seemed more distant than others. Sometimes it seemed like a fools hope. Sometimes it was the only hope he had.

But no matter what, he never forgot.

"Dean?"

He never forgot. Even when remembering was hard to do.

"Dean?"

Because if he forgot, than who would remember for Sam?

"M'here Sam…" he hated how his words slurred. The face of his eleven year old brother hovered over him.

"Dean," the kid sighed, gently sliding his arm under his brother's. Dean felt every jolt as Sam carefully helped him up and over to the bed. The younger pulled a key out from under the mattress, unlocking the bedside jour. He pulled out their make-shift first aid kit, and began checking over the older with nimble fingers and sad eyes. "Oh Dean."

"Either you've said that a few times or my brain's on repeat," Dean replied, a weak attempt at jovial. Sam just shook his head and continued his examination.

Dean couldn't honestly say if he knew what normal was, but there were a few things he was pretty darn sure of. You shouldn't have to lock up your stuff in a jour to keep it from being taken from your own room. Bedroom doors shouldn't have deadbolts on them, and kid's Sammy's ages shouldn't know major first aid procedures.

And looks of worry don't belong on a eleven-year-old's face.


	2. Chapter 1: In this House

A new chapter! And this is a really quick update for me, hahaha. I'm hoping the next update will be just as fast so cross fingers and leave reviews ;) Yeah yeah I know...we authors are shameless.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

!-- / Style Definitions / p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; page Section1 size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0; div.Section1 page:Section1; --

**Chapter 1: In This House**

_"It's hard to believe in someone who's not there."—It Only Hurts by Default_

Every night growing up Sam would ask for a story, and Dean would tell him one. The adventures were always different but it was always about the same thing.

Dad.

Not the man calling himself their father, but their real dad. The one Dean remembered but Sam couldn't. So Dean told him stories, twisted together from distant memories and made up fantasy. Stories of the brave John Winchester as he fought unnamable evil. Stories of the distant hero.

All of them ended with a promise.

_"He will come one day Sammy, just you wait." _

When Sam was a kid it was easy to believe. Their dad was out there saving the world from the things in the dark. One day he would come and save them from their own brand of nightmare.

There comes a time in every child's life when reality takes the place of dreams, but this was a complicated transition for the youngest brother. Dean believed without a shadow of a doubt about the monsters out there in the dark, he believed undauntingly in their father too.

But Sam wasn't sure how much belief one could place on the memories of a five year old. It had been ten years since they were taken from their father. What if Roger Miller and the people at CPS were right? What if John Winchester was just a crazy old man? What if Dean's stories were just stories?

But Sam also knew that asking these question would be admitting there was no hope. Resigning himself to life here in the Miller house forever. Because in the end it all came down to one question.

Was he Sam Miller or Sam Winchester?

A moan from the twin bed next to him brought Sam out of his reverie. He slipped out of bed and walked softly across the floor.

"Dean…how's your head?"

Several unintelligible moans followed by a pained "kill me" was Sam's answer. The younger brother didn't prevent an eye roll.

"How bout some Tylenol instead?" he nudged a glass of water into his brother's hand. Dean slowly propped himself up onto his elbows and accepted the pills. After the cobwebs began to part from his mind, Dean glanced toward the clock. It was after nine.

"School?"

"It's Saturday," the younger reminded him. Dean glanced toward Sam and felt a mix of emotions rise up in him. A vivid bruise colored Sam's face just above his chin, standing out against his already pale skin. Dean carefully took his brother's face, turning so he could better inspect it.

"It's not bad, Dean," Sam replied to the concerned gesture, but he didn't pull away.

Dean worked part time at the auto shop after school three days a week, he made sure it was always the three days that Sam stayed late for soccer practice. If he was going to arrive home late, he wanted to make sure his brother would too. It had worked out well so far, but there was never such a thing as a fool proof plan.

So when a wreck detour sent Dean driving the long way he arrived home nearly a half hour after Sam.

Things just got worse from there.

Memories of anger and the smell of whiskey made Dean shudder, but not for himself. Never for himself. He was strong. He could take it if the punches were only aimed at him, but one look at his brother's kicked puppy dog expression framed by that unnatural purple color twisted Dean's gut.

Sam sunk onto the bed beside him, Dean didn't have to turn to know the look on his brother's face. That look of understanding that only made Dean feel worse.

"Sam…you don't deserve this."

"Neither do you."

"I'm supposed to take care of you…"

Sometimes Sam said things that made him seem a lot older than his eleven years.

"Who's supposed to take care of you?" he asked.

_Dad. _Jumped instantly into Dean's head, but Dad wasn't here. Dean _was _here, and it was his job to look after Sammy.

"You had breakfast yet?" he asked, sweeping that moment under his mental rug. Sam shook his head, brown locks falling into his eyes.

Sometimes Sammy looked exactly his age.

"Come on kid, we'll eat out," he put the cocky grin back in place. Sam seemed to accept the mood swing and go with it, quietly getting up and getting dressed. Dean wasn't looking forward to the day when Sam got old enough to see through his confidence.

Dean threw on some clothes—layers, always layers—and glanced in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, not bothering with a brush. He looked a little rough, but his headache was dissipating. No eye brow raising bruises either, not like Sam.

He pushed off the thoughts again when Sam reemerged from the bathroom. They crept silently to the staircase. Dean led the way down the stairs, listening for the soft sound of heavy breathing.

Roger Miller was passed out on the couch as expected.

He was tempted—and not for the first time—to slug the sleeping form, but the same thing always stopped him. Big blue disapproving eyes.

As they walked out onto the sun baked streets of their Michigan town house toward the dinner down the street, Dean let himself watch the neighborhood kids. One a little younger than Sammy was riding a bike. He smiled widely at them as he zoomed past. Three boys played soccer in the park, the ball only a streak of white around their pounding feet.

A family walked by them, the daughter was chatting away, the son piggy back on the father's back. Dean felt a stab of something as he watched them.

That was what Sammy deserved.

The bell over the diner door chimed as Dean pushed it open, holding it for his brother. Sam wasn't in a chatty mood today, but he would be once he got some food in his stomach.

They slid into the vinyl booth by the window. This was their booth. They claimed it two years ago when Dean got his first part time job. He didn't start out making much, but he still always managed to take his brother out for breakfast every Saturday.

It was just their thing, because Dean had learned a long time ago that they needed things like that to cling to.

A pretty woman with motherly eyes came over and grinned at them. Her name was Val and she was working there as a waitress to support her husband because he got injured one day on his construction site. Dean knew this because one day she looked devastated—her mascara running down her cheeks. Sam went over to her and asked what's wrong. Whether it was his caring eyes or his trust worthy face Dean didn't know, but for some reason she told him everything. He listened understandingly and simply said. "It'll be ok."

Ever since then Val waited on them every time they came in.

"Hey boys, we have blueberry pancakes today," she cooed, ruffling Sam's hair affectionately. The younger looked to Dean with hopeful eyes.

"That'll be great, thanks," Dean replied smoothly, trying to act like he was humoring his little brother.

"Sammy, you really should just ask her out and not leave her in suspense any longer," Dean ribbed.

"Shut up jerk."

Dean mouthed his common response, long ago learning that actually saying it out loud would get him glares from adults that likely used that word themselves. Dean really hated double standards.

Val returned with two stacks of the delicious smelling pancakes. As she bent over to place the plates in front of them she gasped.

"Sam what happened to your face?"

"Nothing…I fell…in soccer," he lied, badly. Sam ducked his head, bangs falling over his eyes effectively cutting himself off from the world. Val clicked her tongue and walked toward the back muttering something.

As the humor of a moment before faded to familiar anger, Dean found his mind wandering. Sam deserved to laugh like that all the time, not just once in a while.

After a few minutes of silently eating Sam seemed to recover and began chatting on about the book he was reading, but Dean was only vaguely aware of what was being said. His mind was working furiously, as a plan started to form.

--

They spent the rest of the day out, enjoying the warm sunshine of that early fall day. When they headed back it was late but the lights in the house were still dim.

"Maybe he's not home," Sam suggested hopefully.

"Maybe," Dean agreed a bit more skeptically. He pushed open the door cautiously. Dean sighed with relief. The couch was mercifully abandoned. The house was silent, a misconception of peace. "Wanna watch Rocky?" The younger shook his wavy mop.

"Maybe later. I've got homework."

"Suit yourself geekboy," Dean ribbed, settling into the chair by the TV. Sam rolled his eyes. The older glanced from the TV to see Sam bounce up the stairs as if he had no care in the world. Dean shook his head in amusement, turning back to the flickering tube.

Rocky was about to face off against Apollo Creed when a crash from upstairs startled Dean back to reality.

"Sam!" he shouted, bounding up the stairs. As he hit the landing voices instantly assaulted his ears.

"Did you take it you little thief?" It was Roger.

"I didn't I swear!" Sam defended. Dean threw open the door to the room they shared and saw his brother pinned against the wall by the burly man.

"He didn't take anything!" the older yelled. It didn't matter what the accusation was, that was always the answer.

"Shut up! I'm not talking to you," the words were growled out. Roger's tightened his grip on Sam and without warning slammed him into the wall—hard—and Dean saw red.

He would never be able to remember what happened next. He was aware of nothing but the haze of anger surrounding him.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam's panicked voice broke through to the older. The first thing he saw was Sam's startled blue eyes and their "guardian" on the floor. Dean kneeled down beside the fallen man, feeling oddly dethatched. Sam edged closer to him. "Is he…"

"He's unconscious," the older replied, his anger dissipating to shock. _He'd _knocked Roger Miller unconscious. The cold grip of panic began to settle in his chest.

"Dean?"

He pushed down his own raging emotions and focused his attention on to his brother. Sam cradled his arm awkwardly, his frightened eyes making him look every bit of his eleven years. The older jumped to his side, running careful fingers across the injured arm. Sam winced at the touch, but nothing felt broken. Dean tried to keep his hand from shaking as he cupped his brother's chin.

"I need you to go downstairs and wait for me. Ok Sammy?" he said, his voice gentle as he could make it. The kid nodded, glancing at Roger's limp form as he made his way out the door.

Later Dean would worry. He'd panic, and maybe be a little disgusted with losing control like that; but now he needed to keep his head. Dean's mind worked furiously. He needed to put his plan into action before it was fully hatched. He didn't know the details, but he did know one thing.

They weren't gonna be there when Roger Miller woke up.

* * *


	3. Chapter 2: Burning Bridges

**Gibberings**: FINALLY!! Oh man it's been a long wait! Thank you all for the amazing reviews! Thanks to Sam for getting me to work on this story again, seriously girl you helped a ton. Major thanks to Val for helping me over my writers block, and showing me how a simple change can make such a big difference to a story!

And a very big thank you to Morgan for betaing!

Now everyone enjoy, the third chapter is already in the works so update will come soon! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Burning Bridges**

_"Easy, walk out your door in the morning and you're mixed up in something. The only thing you can really worry about is if you get mixed up to the top. –Mr. Albright, Devil in a Blue Dress by Mosley_

It was a rainy night in Boston, well after midnight, when he walked in. He was a tall, imposing figure of a man with the stance of someone who'd seen a few fights in his life and was excepting to see more soon. He ran a hand through his unkempt black hair, shaking water onto the scuffed floor.

This bar was different from the ones John usually frequented; it was filled with laughing co-eds ordering drinks that were more fruit than alcohol. He was a little too close to the colleges to expect his kind of establishment.

His piercing gaze swept across the room, searching. At a booth in the back a much younger man sat alone. John's eyes were instantly drawn to him. He looked like a mutt in a swarm of show breeds. He wore a blue sleeveless jacket, the ends frayed from wear. His bare arms were untouched by sun, and a chain of silver beads hung around his neck; but it was his mullet that really set him apart.

John smirked, ambling over to the nearly forsaken table.

"You Ash?"

"Well that depends," the younger man responded, looking lazily up at him. "Should I be?" The hunter pulled out his wallet, extracting some money from it.

"I'll get your next three rounds," he offered, pulling the money back as Ash reached for it. "_If _you help me out."

_-_-_

Dean watched the road, gripping the wheel too tight. He was crazy and he knew it, but going back now would be worse. He glanced at his brother in the seat beside him, bruised face lax with sleep. This was crazy, but it was worth it.

"Hey kiddo, we're here." He shook Sam's sleeping form.

"We're where?" the younger questioned sitting up and glancing around.

"Home sweet home, for tonight anyway," the older replied. Sam squinted at the dingy motel sign as if it had personally offended him.

"_Here_?"

"Yes, Princess," the older retorted.

"There are better ways to contract Ebola," Sam grumbled, raising his hand before Dean could speak. "And no I don't want you to give me the list of better ways." Dean gave his trademark cocky grin and got out of the two-door.

The motel was even worse on the inside, looking very much the epitome of dingy. The wallpaper was peeling in wide shreds near the ceiling revealing a sickly shade of yellow underneath that reminded Dean faintly of his old kindergarten classroom—he could almost feel his creativity being repressed.

"Dean…" The teen turned at the hesitant sound in his brother's voice.

"Yeah?"

"How are we…paying for this?" Dean saw the clear concern written on Sam's face. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a sleek piece of plastic.

"Is that…"

"Yep."

Instead of relief the younger's face filled with even more concern.

"Dean…first the car, now this?" Sam moaned, waving his hand toward the card.

"Hey, after everything…he owes us." He slapped his little brother's good shoulder gently and headed toward the main desk

Where the room was unsettling, the woman behind the desk was the poster girl of wholesome. Her face was heart-shaped and her cheeks were just rosy enough to make her seem happy but not enough to make it seem fake. Her hair was either a dark shade of blonde or a light shade of brown but not vibrant enough to claim either passionately.

"How can I help you?" she questioned with a thick southern accent, so out of place that far north.

"I'd like a room, a double if you have it," Dean replied, leaning against the counter and putting out all of his charm.

"You want a room?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Uh huh," he said, not giving an inch.

"Listen kid, you're not old enough to be making reservations by yourself," her reply sounded vaguely accusational, but considering how good both he and Sam _didn't _look it was no wonder she was cautious.

"Of course," Dean said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "My father's outside. He was going to come in but you see," his voice dropped to a conspiring whisper, "He's frayed to the ends. Don't think he could even remember his name right now."

Dean Winchester lesson number one: Kill them with confidence.

"I'm really not sure…" The hesitance was still obvious in her face.

The older Winchester slung an arm around Sam and pulled him closer. "My brother was in a car accident you see, just a week ago. Dad decided we needed to get away for a bit, but he didn't realize how far it was to the next motel and Sammy here is exhausted."

Dean Winchester lesson number two: When in doubt, use little brother's natural kicked-puppy eyes.

Any resistance the woman had melted instantly and she reached behind her for a key.

Dean Winchester mission accomplished.

_-_-_

John sunk on the lumpy bed with a tired sigh. Every new lead was just another grey hair on his already speckled head, but his deal with Ash held promise. The only problem was how much time it would take.

After ten years of searching John suddenly felt like his time was running out.

He lifted the picture on the bedside table. No matter what motel, hotel or run down house he was currently calling his, that was one consistent. The picture of Mary holding his beautiful boys close to her. All smiles and life and light. A reminder of why he even bothered getting up in the morning. A reminder of how badly he'd screwed up.

He had made a promise ten years ago. A promise he still planned to keep.

_-_-_

Sam was standing by the window when Dean returned. The kid had been asleep when Dean decided to go and grab them some food. Now there was a presence radiating off him that the older Winchester knew only too well.

"How long do you think it will be before someone realizes it's a stolen credit card?" Sam asked without turning, "Or that it's a stolen car. Or that you don't even have a license?"

"Till Groundhog's Day?"

That time Sam did wheel around. "Dean I'm serious."

"Dude, don't worry. I got it under control."

"Really Dean? It totally looks like you have things 'under control'."

"I have a plan…trust me Sam." Dean watched the fight drain from his brother's face, "How's the arm?" He shifted his gaze to the sling. It was old and slightly discolored from the last time Sam used it. The last time. Dean had to crush a new wave of anger.

"It's fine," the preteen said. Dean watched those blue-green eyes gazing at the bags he was carrying hungrily, and smiled.

"I got your favorite."

"A McScramble?" Sam asked with obvious distaste. Dean fished in the bag and tossed his brother a plastic cup. He watched those eyes light up. Sometimes the kid was so easy to please.

"Frozen yogurt…because you're such a girl."  
Sam spit out his tongue, plopping down on the lumpy bed. Dean joined him, pulling out his own sloppy mix of eggs, bacon and biscuit. He grabbed the final item out of the bag and held it up to his brother. Sam ran his eyes across the lines and words before turning back to Dean.

"A map?"

"I figure we should start plotting a course," Dean replied.

"Like pirates?"

The older grinned, ruffling his kid brother's hair. "Just like them, but I'm not wearing a stupid hat."

"Do you know how to read a map?"

"Dude, I'm fifteen. Of course I know, but it's not me whose gonna be reading it anyway." He placed the paper in his brother's hands. "I officially dub you Navigator." Sam's eyes widened with pride. "Can you handle that?"

Sam put to fingers to his forehead in a sloppy salute. "Aye aye!" Dean laughed easily. He watched the younger unfold the map and smooth it out almost reverently, and he realized that was the best five dollars he ever spent.

"Where to Captain?"

Dean tossed his empty sandwich wrapper on the table unceremoniously and pointed to roughly the middle of the map. "Kansas." His brother's eyes snapped up to him, surprised. "We're going home Sammy."

_-_-_

John was on his feet, gun in hand, the instant he heard a knock on the door. He moved forward and glanced through the peephole. If he felt any relief at whom he saw it was instantly encompassed in his anger.

"You better have a good explanation," he growled, opening the door. Ash walked in, or rather stumbled in.

"Sorry 'bout that Winchester," he slurred, "I was—" The mullet man would have toppled over if John hadn't pushed him roughly back into the chair.

"You're wasted," John said, his words an unmasked accusation. Ash waved his hand dismissively.

"I just came to give your…your…your…information."

The hunter ran a tired hand across his brow, before taking a better look at college student. Ash was sporting a busted lip, and a nice round whelp on his chin. John Winchester was not a sympathetic man, and the fact that it was three o'clock in the morning did nothing to improve his temperament. But sometimes having resources meant _not_ burning bridges, even when it is very tempting.

"What happened?"

"Got kicked out of school…fightin'," Ash said, "They're all jerks." John sighed.

"Did you find anything?" He had to bite back any response to the dumb look he was getting from the genius, "About my sons?"

"Oh, yeah. It's weird," Ash said.

John narrowed his eyes. "Weird how?"

"Like real weird man. You said they were put into CPS right? Well there's no paper trail."

"Meaning?"

"Whenever a kid is put into the system there is always like a huge amount of paperwork right? Well I thought the hard was gonna be getting to view it, but…there isn't any."

Burning bridges be darned, John grabbed the man by his collar. "What does that mean," he growled.

"They weren't taken by CPS."

_-_-_

_ "Sammy." The gentle feminine laugh caught his ear. Sam looked up, saw a wisp of blonde hair disappearing around the corner. He ran but couldn't get there in time. She was gone. _

_ He stood in the middle of an empty street. Alone._

_"Sammy." He whipped around and saw the corner of a skirt, but it was only for a second. He felt like she was teasing him. _

_"Wait!" he screamed. _

_He felt warm breath on his neck._

_"Wake up Sammy." _

His eyes flew open, and he shoved off the covers. He'd had the dream before. It was different every time except for the brief glimpses of someone…he was never sure who she was.

The preteen walked over to the window and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His eyes sagged…and instantly snapped back open. The motel parking lot was badly lit, but it didn't matter. Sam would know that car anywhere.

He flew to Dean's bed like the devil was on his tail, and in Sam's mind he was.

The older Winchester was awake before Sam could even stutter out the words, strong hands wrapping around the younger's shaking arm.

"What is it? Sammy what is it?"

"It's him Dean…_he's here_!"

Dean did not ask who, he didn't have to. Sam's eyes said it all. He was up in an instant, grabbing everything in reach and throwing it into their duffel bags. The sound of boots falling on the hall outside their room traveled through the paper thin walls.

"Sammy," he hissed, grabbing his brother and pulling him toward the window.

"Dean! Wait…the map!" The younger tried to pull away frantically. Dean heard a key jiggling the doorknob.

"Leave it!" Dean pulled open the window and tossed their bags out, pushing Sam toward it next. He helped his little brother climb out right as the door swung open. Light poured around two familiar silhouettes. "Sam run!" he screamed, lunging out the window himself. He felt fingers twist into his jacket, but he pulled away. He fell three feet to the ground and instantly pushed off, running after his brother.

_-_-_

Arthur Miller opened the door quietly, but apparently not quiet enough. He saw the boys scrambling out the window. The man beside him barreled toward them, his hand just managing to grasp at the leather of Dean's jacket. He cursed and pushed past Arthur, running back down the hall.

Arthur flicked on the light and walked into the room. The covers were thrown off the beds haphazardly and junk wrappers littered the tables. Something on the table caught his on the table. He looked studied it silently for a few minutes.

"They got away," said the other man, returning.

"Don't worry about it Roger," Arthur replied, lifting up the map. "I know where they're going."


End file.
